Just like some people crave coffeeI crave poetryI make no apologiesI live and breathe poetryShould my poetic flowOne day suddenly goAnd my pen become dry,I’d just shrivel up and dieHaving nothing to shareIs my worst nightmareNo poet’s cupboard should ever be bareThey should always have a word to feed a hungry spiritIn their emergency kitEvery time I go without writingI start this infernal nail biting.I find myself wondering whenThe dry spell will endAnd the words once again spill from my mindLike fine wine.I yearn for those vintage thoughts that give one reason to pause.Not that I’m looking for applause.No one has to tell me I did good.I hope that’s understood.I don’t need accoladesCause those things will surely fadeI just have a simple love for poetry that I can’t defineIt’s my lifelineIn an ever-pressing worldWhere problem after problem seems to unfurlI’m sure somebody here can relateMy sanity is at stakePoetry is my inner peaceThat makes the noises ceaseI live and breathe poetryIt sets my spirit freePoetry is the wind beneath my wingsIt makes my heart singAnd my spirit soarIt is life’s open doorIt’s that quiet in the midst of the stormThat makes my spirit feel rebornSo, I pray my well doesn’t ever run dry.I want to keep writing until I die.Even then, I want my writing to live on Long after I’m goneBringing comfort to the comfortlessAnd rest to the restlessI want it to be a source of inspirationAnd revelation I want my words to be a source of encouragementTo those who live in constant tormentThen and only then will my time here have been well-spentDoes that make sense to anyone but me?Or am I the only one here that lives and breathes poetry?